I was recently fortunate enough to celebrate another lap of the sun – something I no longer take for granted. The date fortuitously coincided with our periodic week in Whistler, so I had seven days away from home to relax and grumble to myself about the lack of letters I’d received of late from my various pen pals across the globe. On my return though, I was pleasantly surprised to see I had a small but exotic collection of letters in the mail box.
Letter boxes in doors are not a thing over here in BC, so if you go away for a few days, it’s not uncommon to return to a pile of soggy letters where the postman has made only a passing effort to put the mail into the wall mounted mail box, and left enough area exposed to collect the wetter elements and allow them to capillary to those items that were otherwise more protected within. The young lad on his hoverboard that delivers the weekly free paper feels it’s sufficiently close to what he’s actually paid to do to leave the paper (and all its advertising inserts) lying on the welcome mat instead of actually in the aforementioned receptacle. This being BC, this naturally guarantees that the paper will get soaked and more often than not – depending on wind direction – distributed in a way unforeseen by the paper’s marketing department.
Happily, the weather had been well behaved in my absence and the paper was merely moist at the edges, still in one piece, and lying where it had been deployed in Marty McFly‘s haste. The letters appeared dry and unsmudged, and to top off my excitement there was a note from Canada Post telling me they had a parcel for me – and I could collect it the next day. That, dear reader, was today, so off I toddled (in the steady rain that had had the good grace to await my return) to the post office branch hidden at the back of the local Pharmasave. The mysterious parcel was from Austria, and neither of my offspring who live there had indicated anything I should be on the lookout for.
At this point, I will change tack and though it will be no surprise to regular readers, I feel I should let others know about my love of words – the more esoteric the better. Facebook even told me that a year ago I had reminded the world that theic means an excessive drinker of tea. Of course, it’s a nonsense word… how could anyone drink an excess of tea?! There are other favourites, like petrichor and callipygian. (Admit it – you looked it up, didn’t you?). Anyway, all that just to say the love of words extends to foreign languages too, and in my youth, I was introduced to the German word for the unassuming English phrase “bus stop”. I’m sure, as in all living languages, the current usage has changed, but back then in the late 70s, we were taught that the German for bus stop was the truly magnificent “Autobushaltestelle“. Along with TV/telly being “Fernsehapparat“. Anyway, Autobushaltestelle in particular felt delightful on the tongue (a bit like Turkish delight but less fattening), and it has become a bit of a family joke – especially when I visit friends and family in Vienna, where it’s still declared loud and proud on the signs.
A sleepy street in Vienna
Fast forward to a couple of months ago, and I was once more in Wien, to celebrate № 2 child’s thirtieth birthday. As we raced through the U-Bahn Wien to catch a train, I happened to see an advert for various transit-related plushies, much in the vein of BC’s recycle plushies to help raise general awareness of the services offered.
Passing comments were made, with no expectation they were heard or registered. But today, I went to collect a package from the post office, and within it was one of the most unexpected and amazing pieces of awesomeness I have ever possessed! Colour me happy.
Ever since I retired last year, I’ve been half-heartedly pondering doing a grand adventure and driving coast to coast across Canada. There are a couple of potential issues, not least of which is that my rescue dog Gromit has anxiety issues and I’m not sure how he’d fare being cooked up in a car for hours on end, day after day. The temptation and wanderlust continued unaddressed…
Firstborn didn’t help by buying me a copy of “Best Road Trips: Canada” by Lonely Planet. Full of helpful maps, places to stop – lots of things to make saying no seem petty at best.
Image from Amazon.ca
The logical thing seemed to be to start small, somewhere not too far away, so baling was at least possible if it just wasn’t working out. I opted for a couple of nights away to the north of Vancouver Island, and even managed to convince one of my friends to tag along, since the incremental cost was negligible and it’s always more fun sharing your adventures. My friend was actually brought up on the island and knows it well. As a – shall we say “more experienced”? – person she even gets to use the BC Ferries for free, mid week. Even better, BC Ferries are now using an airline model for ticketing, so if you pre-buy a ticket for a specific crossing, they no longer charge a booking fee, and the price is variable based on the crossing popularity.
If you just rock up and pay, it’s currently CAD$95.50 for car and driver one way. By pre-booking, going mid-week and selecting the cheaper crossings (5:15am – but we did want to take a lazy drive up once we arrived anyway), we paid $49.50 for the car, driver and passenger, each way!
Gromit didn’t seem to mind TOO much at having his sleep interrupted at 3 am in order to get ready, but my friend turned up in plenty of time, and we loaded up and had time for a Timmie’s stop for breakfast before getting to the Tsawwassen terminal right on time for the first crossing of the day on Tuesday. The crossing was calm, and a little misty as the sun rose, which made it quite atmospheric… like crossing the Styx!
Once we were at Nanaimo, we headed up the old 19A coast road, rather than the faster highway 19, just so we could enjoy the journey. We had no set agenda, and couldn’t check into our accommodation before 4pm anyway. First stop was at Oyster Bay Rest Area, south of Campbell River, so Gromit could stretch his legs and have a drink of water.
Naturally, we couldn’t let him have all the fun, so my friend did some beachcombing to look for pieces of driftwood for her art projects. Then we piled back in the car and headed a little further up the coast to Willow Point and enjoyed a coffee at Serious Coffee in one of the strip malls there.
Image from Serious Coffee web site
Then, we were back on the road and took a meander at Sayward towards Kelsey Bay, so Gromit could have another leg stretch (well – he has twice as many legs as we did!)
The wind was a little more brisk at this exposed headland, but BC coastline never disappoints
We’d passed a wood carving artisan’s place on the way through Sayward, and my friend asked if we could stop to have a chat, since it was on the way back to the old coast road and she too is a carver and mixed media artist. Carole Hartfield of Carole’s Inspirations has some awesome pieces for sale and was kind enough to make us a coffee and show us around her extensive workshop. She has “all the toys” and carves, turns, inlays and generally makes wood do her every bidding. And a lovely lady to boot.
Carole’s Inspirations in Sayward
She told us of a mother grizzly in the area with a couple of 3 year old cubs, and we agreed to drop by on our way home to chat further.
As we continued north, we passed a giant blade from a wind turbine, and an information sign placed by the Rotary Club. Just as we booted up Google Maps to see where our lodging was, it told us it was the next turning on the right! Perfect timing.
A little road weary and glad to no longer be in motion, we finally pulled into Port Hardy RV and Resort. We’d booked a log cabin for a couple of nights at a very reasonable price, and the site also catered for camping and RVs though due to the early season there was only one tent (a chatty guy from Germany – we spoke about Trangia stoves as only European camping nerds can) and a couple of RVs. The estuary offered a lovely raised path and nature walk which Gromit and I enjoyed several times over the next couple of days.
The Wednesday was our one full day to explore and we started off with a trip into Port Hardy proper. The Visitor Centre doesn’t open until 10am, so we decamped to the local café – Café Guido. I sat outside with Gromit, and my friend disappeared for ages as she’d discovered the upstairs floor was an art gallery filled with temptation!
Time waits for no mango and it was now 10 am so I popped into the Visitor Centre to see what they recommended as the highlights to see, since we only had the one day. I confess I was a little disappointed that the recommendations were (i) the museum over the road which we were about to visit anyway, (ii) Café Guido (it was good, but was it THAT good to make the top 3 things to visit Port Hardy for?) and (iii) Coal Harbour – a town about 20km south, lying on a very sheltered inlet, and hardly qualifying as Port Hardy at all!!
The museum was small and pretty much what you’d expect in a town like Port Hardy – items from its more bustling past as a successful forestry, fishing and mining area. Entry is by donation and the staff were very chatty and friendly, and we passed a very pleasant half hour oo-ing and ah-ing at the exhibits. As with the Visitor Centre, the postcards were pleasant enough, but generic or art pictures rather than anything to do with Port Hardy and its indisputable natural beauty. I ended up buying 4 postcards of black and white photos of Haida Gwaii, of all things!
Somehow, time had marched on sufficiently that we could contemplate lunch, and we’d already decided the previous evening to eat at Macy’s Place fish and chip emporium, next to the Visitor Centre. Best decision of the day, and should definitely have been in the top 3 things to do in Port Hardy! The fish was very well cooked with excellent batter (I’m from Yorkshire and inherently fussy about my batter!) The servings came with generous coleslaw and tartar sauce side dishes. Gromit gazed on longingly from the car, as we ate.
After lunch we decided to try Coal Harbour – there had been talk of a museum with RCAF items, as well as stuff from the forestry and other local history. It was a lovely drive, and when we arrived, the place was deathly quiet – not a soul stirred! There were signs for the museum, but no building that seemed to answer the description. The nearest match was a large, semi-derelict warehouse that we later learnt was a remnant of the long defunct whaling industry that had been based there. No signs or indications of a museum though. Attached to the warehouse was a small office for the local air taxi (float planes were landing on the inlet as we walked around), but nobody was around to ask, and the warehouse seemed to be used for storing boats out of season. We opted to go back to the car and pootle around to see what was to be seen. The one road was of course a dead end, but we were rewarded with seeing a couple of tame deer for our troubles.
By luck, the local postman turned up to distribute the post into the collection boxes so I asked about the museum. It turned out it was in fact within the Air Cab office, attached to the warehouse, so off we went again. This time we went in, and discovered there was absolutely nobody there, just lots of museum-grade exhibits. So very BC! We had a good look around and I wrote in the guest book below the entry dated two days hence (no TARDIS in sight, though the museum definitely looked bigger on the inside!)
More chainsaws than Elon Musk could ever needRadio Coal Harbour callingNow THAT is a harpoon!If you’re bored, we can switch
After such an unexpected “save” – we almost missed the museum altogether – we naturally had to celebrate with a coffee at the local Hoyalas Landing Restaurant, whose staff were very friendly and helpful.
Despite not having done very much at all, we were starting to flag a little, so we headed off to Fort Rupert, and headed for the beach. Gromit got to run free and tried to drink the entire Pacific Ocean, with only minimal success. My friend found many more interesting shells and driftwood for future art projects and I was fascinated by the white highlights of a nearby island. It turns out to be “Shell Island”, and I suspect the white areas of shells would have taken eons to build up.
We then began to head back but thought we’d visit another carver we’d heard about in Fort Rupert – at The Copper Maker Gallery. This is run by the very friendly Calvin A. Hunt, who specialises in Kwakiutl/Kwagu’ł art. He was very generous with his time and showed us several of the totems he was working on. He also makes prints and bronzes. Incredibly talented. His work is bought and displayed all over the world – in fact a totem was being raised in Singapore in the next few days.
One of Calvin Hunt’s masterpieces, sold as a limited edition framed print
The day was now getting away from us and half-baked plans to visit Alert Bay were no longer realistic. It’s always best to leave ’em wanting more, as the stage-treaders say.
Our final day, Thursday began with clearing out the cabin and heading into Port Hardy to fill up on go-juice for the car. There are looooong stretches of the coast highway with absolutely nothing except trees – including cell signal. Not a great place to run out of petrol. We then headed back to Sayward to see if we could spot the grizzlies we’d been told about. As we approached Kelsey Bay again, we decided that perhaps we’d not paid quite enough attention to Carole’s directions, so turned round to pay her another visit. As we did so, my friend spotted several elk just hanging out in a field next to the road.
Carole was as friendly as at our first meeting a couple of days previously, and offered to drive ahead and show us exactly where the grizzlies had been for the last few days. Alas, they were no longer there. Even BC bears know to get out of the rain, and the drizzle was being pretty persistent by now.
We said our goodbyes and steadily headed south, stopping off at Mac’s in Fanny Bay to stock up on freshly shucked oysters and some clams. Then it was off on a minor detour to Coombs, as we were in no rush. No goats on the roof just yet – too early in the season I suppose. Much more serious though – the doughnut shop had already sold out by the time we got there at 4 pm! We were forced to go to the market and buy essentials like Penguins and brie.
By now, we were dangerously close to the ferry terminal, but had another 6 hours before our late night (read “cheap”) crossing back to the mainland. We opted for a leisurely Timmie’s stop, and then headed out to Beachcomber Park, near Nanoose Bay. Just off the point is the delightfully named “Mistaken Island“. Gromit enjoyed the beach, and met his first deer almost nose to nose. Both seemed a little surprised at the encounter, but neither really reacted beyond raising an ear in enquiry.
Somehow, we managed to run the clock down, and at 9pm we were allowed into the ferry terminal ready for our return voyage. There were a few trucks on the crossing but only a handful of cars. Naps were taken, and at 2:30 am we were home, tired and all explored out for one week!
The Japanese figured out, long ago, that simply walking through a forest, with all its sounds, scents, textures and shades of green had a very tangible calming effect on the human spirit. It’s even prescribed by doctors and termed “forest bathing”, or immersing oneself in the totality of nature.
Living in glorious BC, we have countless opportunities of experiencing the forest – typically in its many damp guises of rainforest – especially mossy, quiet and oh so very green!
Yesterday, Mrs E and I took the chance to wander around Derby Reach, near Langley. In the late 1850s it was proposed as the new capital of BC, and a squad of Royal Engineers was dispatched from Britain, via the colony in Victoria, to survey and begin laying out the new capital. Very quickly it was apparent that though the local Fort Langley was prosperous and well placed on the Fraser River for trade – particularly with Hawai’i – Derby Reach was not really suited for anything beyond the low key farmland it has remained ever since. A better location was surveyed in what is now New Westminster (colonists – particularly those of a military mind – are seldom imaginative when it comes to naming places). It is on an easily defensible hill and has many other advantages over the somewhat damp terrain of Derby Reach. Only later did the provincial capital revert to Victoria, on the island.
The woodland at Derby Reach is still bounded by a mixture of boggy land and farms, and is one of many regional parks in Super, Natural, British Columbia.
I am rootFun guys just hanging outPlainly not Rolling Stones fansVoltaire founded a place called Ferney in SwitzerlandEisley or Espa?RainforestMoss getting to the root of thingsSomething in the airRiding the wavy grainIf only you could smell it…If you go down to the woods today…
So today, via Language Nerds‘ blog, I discovered that the Flemish for “little round thing” is bolleke, used there allegedly, as a term of endearment. The original posting was on Skyparksecure.
The definition is backed by De Koninck, whose many fine beverages I’ve enjoyed on trips through Europe. Here they’re referring to the shape of the glass it is served in (every Belgian beer has its own glass shape to allow the beer to be enjoyed at its best).
In Middle English, bollocks came specifically to mean testicles, likely by borrowing the generic “ball-shape” word from Flemish traders.
In more modern parlance it has come to additionally mean rubbish, or “unsubstantiated opinion that the utterer suspects as invalid”… the prior assertion of the word’s origin being just that.
As in many cases of English vernacular, it can also be used in the opposite, as a great complement, particularly when used in the context of canine genitalia. There are few complements higher than something being declared “the dog’s bollocks“. Oddly, though, this is originally an editorial term from newspapers, used to describe the now rarely seen opening introduction to a list “:-“.
And if my typically obsessive nature plays out as usual: 499 to go.
Let’s back up a bit.
A few weeks ago, I was fortunate enough to find myself in Victoria, the capital of our lovely province of BC, here in Canadiania. Popular legend has it that BC moved its provincial capital from New Westminster on the mainland to Victoria on the island. (Originality wasn’t a strong suit in the days of colonial expansion when it came to naming towns and cities). The supposed reason, if you look at a map, is that Victoria is in the south of the island, and the 49th parallel passes well to its north.
Unthinkable to dispossess the province of its capital, so the Oregon Treaty extension in 1846 to the 1818 convention that negotiated the border betwixt Canada and the former colonies to the south follows the 49th line of latitude only until it gets to the Georgia Strait, then detours to the south, leaving Her Majesty’s island possession whole, to the north. A cute story, but the island colony was only unified with the mainland (i.e. became part of BC) and made into the provincial capital in 1866. True that the island colony’s own capital was still Victoria prior to then… but only from ~1854.
Source: Wikipedia
Further east – well into the mainland and not far from my home in White Rock, there are a couple of square kilometres of peninsula to the south of Tsawwassen called Point Roberts that dip below the 49th, and the US had no qualms about planting their flag on this scrap of land, so I think the reality of the island remaining whole is likely more subtle. Perhaps some more learned visitor to these pages can educate the rest of us further…
Source: Wikipedia – Point Roberts, WA State
So anyway – back from that vaguely meandering history diversion… and we were enjoying a quiet weekend in Victoria. I took the opportunity of visiting Munro’s, the book shop. Well – it would be rude not to really! The store was founded in 1963 by Jim Munro and his first wife Alice Munro… the well known Canadian author. (Echoes of a Monty Python sketch somewhere there!)
I was recently fortunate enough to win a copy of a book from Charlie Rufus’ Indian Marmalade Company blog site. It’s a companion volume to the Grimm TV series (which I’ve been voraciously devouring in typically obsessive mode), which includes a character named Munro also. No relation, I hasten to add. One being literary, the other literature. (Or as I sometimes need to tell Mrs. E when she gets too invested in a TV drama- “it’s not real, you know!”).
I ended up buying a copy of Marcus Aurelius’ “Mediatations”, admittedly not in the original Latin, but I did also flirt with a copy of 500 Writing Prompts by Piccadilly. I regretted not buying it as soon as the opportunity was no longer possible. Such is life.
Yesterday though – I happened across a copy in my local Indigo bookshop, and this time I didn’t hesitate. The book is essentially an empty journal of “toothy” paper with writing prompts to encourage creative thought. 500 in fact (I know – shocker! Complete surprise, given the title.)
It isn’t PERFECT paper for fountain pens, and my first attempt with Pilot Iroshizuku Asa-gao in the Fine nib of my Narwhal Schuylkill Porpita Navy did produce a hint of feathering, but it’s far from terrible either. I’d go as far as to say I quite liked it. The paper has a strong ivory tint, and I suspect the nature of the paper would preclude any sheen, though I’m hopeful of shading. We’ll see.
Source: Cult Pens – Narwhal Schuylkill Porpita Navy (Mine has much more chatoyance).
The paper’s quite thick, but even the pre-printed prompts have a touch of ghosting, so I wasn’t expecting great things from fountain pen ink. Not bad though. Not bad at all. I’m sure as I work through the prompts, I’ll find some ink/nib combinations work better than others, as is true on most papers. And the primary reason for purchasing it was actually the prompts to creativity… the opportunity for fountain pen use was just a (huge) bonus. The binding is interesting, attached only to the back of the book (“open bound”) and allowing the pages to open completely flat.
I can see this book being a useful kick-start for those moments when I’m staring, pen in hand, at a blank page begging to be filled with words, thoughts and above all else… ink! At my good wife’s suggestion, I opened the book randomly for my first exercise, resisting my tendency to work methodically through each prompt in order. Having freed myself from the need to work sequentially, I felt equally liberated from starting with the prompts offered on the first pages I opened at. Eventually, I settled on Name something you wish was “glow in the dark.” I offer you the results of my warped mind, more as proof I responded to the prompt than anything else:
It occurs to me that the world might be slightly more sanitary if animal poo, and dog poo in particular, was glow in the dark. Though by no means a fool-proof solution, it would at least reduce the frequency of stepping in something unsavoury whilst perambulating after sunset.
As for naming it though… that seems an odd request. I thought long and hard. My friend has a Russian girlfriend called Yulia – like “Julia”, but more exotic. By extension, I assume there are Yuliettes too. So, I therefore suggest to name this proposed glow in the dark item “Yuliette L. Shit”.
The latest belter from Quadra Island’s Mother Mother is “I Got Love”, with not a small nod to self-awareness and being comfortable with who you are.
They issued a very bland (near static) video with the song then asked fans to do their own, and send them in. With some truly inspired editing, they came up with this – a tribute to the humility of the band and the creativity of their fans. (Well – except me: I’m just posting the YouTube link!) There’s recognisable snatches of the UK, lots of Vancouver area scenery and small snippets of the band themselves mixed in with mostly fan-generated content. Watch it to the end to really understand the power of music.
I saw a typically clever Marmite ad online the other day. If you’re not familiar with Marmite, all I can suggest is you study particle physics instead. It’ll be easier to explain. The rest of us will just quietly continue…
It was making reference to the fact that the source material (spent brewer’s yeast) was currently in short supply and the larger size jars were temporarily unavailable.
It reminded me that many things are quite polarising, especially in the arts. Indeed, as I type this I’m listening to “Too much too young” by the Specials as Mrs E looks on with undisguised distate.
The works of Roger Waters fall into this category, I found. Ex of Pink Floyd, and no doubt drawing his old age pension, he’s still producing music and touring. I’d bought tickets for my son and I to see him in Vancouver this autumn. COVID put an end to that, so we’ll see how outrageous Ticketmaster behaves when it comes to rescheduling/refunds.
Many people find his music repetitive or dirge-like, but personally I love the imagery of his lyrics. Admittedly they can be a bit self-indulgent sometimes, but I still love the imagery.
You adopted a fox cub Whose mother was somebody’s coat
There’s mention of Eeyore and Pooh in the song too! Classic word-weaving.
Anyway, Spotify served up one of his later pieces from “Amused to Death”. It’s not what you’d call a light spirited album but again, I find the word pictures very evocative. Given the times we live in, I thought the lyrics for “Too much rope” particularly relevant.
Muslim or Christian, Mullah or Pope Preacher or poet who was it wrote Give any one species too much rope And they’ll fuck it up
Personal politics aside, this showed a huge lack of empathy for the wonderful people of Durham and its surrounding area.
I was fortunate enough to be a student of Durham, and was actually studying there during the miners’ strike. The population of the city pretty much doubled during term time and despite the attendant distortion of the local demographic, I never found the “townies” to be anything but friendly and accepting of the “gownies”. Along with many other students I volunteered in the community and tried to “give back” a little to my host city during my stay.
The strike heightened town/gown frictions to be sure. I believe there may have even been a few beatings of students – presumably those showing their unjust entitlement a bit too readily.
For a group of today’s students (admittedly rugby players – rarely the brightest bulbs) who weren’t even born at the time to be so disrespectful of the city’s social history and its positive interaction with its transient student guests was shameful. Back in the ’80s Trev’s college was female only and a much more thoughtful place. Higher education is a privilege and its recipients should be more grateful to the wider community that makes that learning experience possible. Many in that community do not have the same access to that privilege yet still add to the positive experience students graduate with.
I hope to read soon about a complete and unreserved apology from Trev’s rugby team – hopefully accompanied with some community volunteering to help redress this ill-considered move.
BBC News: Durham students miners’ strike-themed event ‘disgraceful’
Due to reasons beyond my control, I was persuaded to succumb to a Facebook account. One of the feeds I subscribe to is “Destination British Columbia” which often have some lovely photos of my home province and occasionally introduce me to places I haven’t heard of.
They ran a little puzzle asking people to identify where a photo was taken, and the answer – as the more quick witted amongst you will already surmise – was Cascade Falls near Mission, BC. I’d never heard of it, so off we went to explore a little corner of our province we’d never visited. It’s about an hour’s trip from White Rock, but the petrol is so cheap in the valley, I think we still came out ahead!
We stopped off for an almost Yorkshire lunch at Clayburn on the way, complete with gallons of Taylor’s tea, and easily found the provincial park just beyond Mission. The waterfall is certainly spectacular, and it’s only a 5 minute walk from the car-park. Disappointingly though – that’s it. No longer walking options; no trails through the forests. There’s a picnic area to be fair, but nothing more strenuous than the wooden stairs up to the viewing platform. If you’re passing though – a lovely stop-off, but don’t make a day trip of it on its own.
So I recently returned from a week or so in The Netherlands. It was a business trip to Venlo, but as I was there for a little while (including a weekend) I got to see a bit more of the place. “Océ – a Canon Company” has its headquarters in Venlo, just over the border from Dusseldorf, the nearest airport. I learnt that Venlo is actually from the dutch “ven” meaning fen or marsh – indicative of the typical dutch geography.
I won’t bore you with the work-related reasons for my trip, but allow me to indulge myself with the more culinary and cultural elements of the visit. I arrived on the Thursday and met up with a colleague who introduced me to an app called “untappd“.
Basically this is like a boozy version of Pokemon Go or geocaching or I-Spy or something. Essentially you log each beer you imbibe and it allows you to discover similar beers you may enjoy, or nearby hostelries selling your favourite tipple. The Netherlands, like nearby Belgium has a long history in beer brewing and it was an easy excuse to try and “bag” as many different tipples as I could. And by tipple I mean “Tripel“.
I was a bit jet-lagged on the Thursday so just had a swift pint in the hotel and a burger with my Romanian colleagues who’d flown in a little earlier.
Friday, I went to work, and got confused by the tea machine. The options were “black” or “with sugar”. Not black/white or with/without sugar you understand… I found my inner calm and went with black.
The red Océ sign out of the hotel window.
Your options are black or sugar. That is all.
One of my colleagues is a bit of a fitness addict so we didn’t get any other offers to join us for a brisk walk into town. It’s about 35 minutes each way, but I needed the leg-stretch, and it helped build up an appetite. We settled on Alde Mert and were not disappointed with the victuals. The menu included “game courses” and though these did not include such favourites as “Monopoly” they admitted the pricing was a tad rich by referring to “dear steaks”.
The steaks were “dear” it seems.
Bambi’s mum did not die in vain.
And then came the beer…
We walked a little further to Cafe de Klep (“the valve” or “the tap”) with its beer menu of over 100 offerings.
Westmalle, Karmeliet and Kwak seemed appropriate. Small 300ml litre bottles, but with a ~9-10% punch. That’s like drinking wine in beer quantities. No wonder the Belgians and Dutch are so mellow!
Westmalle
Kwak
Karmeliet
Kwak is always amusing. I first came across it when I travelled to Antwerpen a lot with Agfa. It comes in a glass with a round bottom and is supported in a wooden frame. Some bars insist you trade a shoe for the glass to ensure you don’t leave the establishment with one of their unusual glasses. A quick walk back to the hotel through the sleepy streets of Venlo and a sound night’s sleep ready for the weekend.
Rush Hour in Venlo
After a little debate, we decided we’d spend Saturday sight-seeing and opted for a trip to Arnhem famous for Operation Market Garden, immortalised in Cornelius Ryan’s A Bridge Too Far, turned into a film in the 70s. I had a personal connection as my grandfather had fought there and survived the ordeal. The airborne museum at Hartenstein in Oosterbeek was very well done and had a solemn but informative air.
Remembrance poppies in the entrance room
Sten Guns
Upstairs – out of bounds
Imperial typewriter… like the one my dad has
Field hospital diorama
Horsa glider
Battle diorama
Street scene
Mortar post
Sherman tank
Exterior of Hartenstein
Next we went to pay our respects at the nearby airborne cemetery. I was surprised to see several Canadian graves and all the ones I found were glider pilots – none over their mid-twenties.
So many people gave everything in an attempt to bring a swift end to the war
The Poles were a brave element supporting the British paratroopers
Several Canadian graves spoke of the brave young glider pilots
A memorial to those who fell trying to liberate Arnhem
They came from the skies. Operation Market Garden was the largest airborne assault in history.
Somewhat subdued, we headed back into Oosterbeek for lunch. After walking the length and breadth of the little town we settled on The Grand Cafe Schoornoord. As with so many places around here, it had its own links to the battle and had been used as a field hospital. First opened in 1882 it saw 500 wounded British soldiers treated inside during the battle of 1944. It’s now affectionately known as “Airborne pub No. 1”, and seems very proud of the small part it played in events.
One of several glass pieces commemorating events of 1944
The menu is proud to remind visitors of the part played during the war.
Regular readers will know of my affection for Audrey Hepburn, and though the museum did have a temporary exhibition of some of her early life, I actually found this street advert in Oosterbeek to be more powerful. The eyes and cheekbones are unmistakable, even at such a young age. Note the pegasus symbol of the British Airborne Division on the lower/right of the poster.
After the drive back to Venlo and a while to regroup, we headed into Brasserie Alt Arce in Arcen (yes that’s really its name, and you say it like you’d think!). The food was excellent and beer was most naturally drunk.
Hertog Jan is the local brewery
This Grand Prestige is a “Quad” beer. Not for the faint-livered.
Sunday was quiet and we headed off to the Hertog Jan brewery to sample their wares at lunchtime. I love the unfussy dutch food in this region and had a lovely “blood pudding” for my lunch. Essentially “Black Pudding” as it would have been in Yorkshire, but lightly fried.
The brewery and the pub over the road
The pipe carrying the various beers to the pub over the road
The pub looks welcoming
The shiny copper pipe delivering the liquid nectar. Balloons are in preparation for Carnival (Pancake Day to you…)
Back Pudding like you’ve never seen it. Wonderful!
The 11th Commandment: Thou shalt drink!
Where the drunkards are kept…
Presents for the folks back home
By evening time we were looking for something a little closer and headed for the short walk from the hotel to Taurus. More beer – it was almost becoming habitual, but still easy to try different brews.
La Chouffe
Good ol’ Leffe
By Monday I was on a mission, and even though we ate in the hotel, I managed to add a few more different beers to the tally.
La Trappe
Witte Trappist
Palm – another Belgium staple
The main event began on Tuesday and I was now swept up in the formal mass dining of the group. This severely limited my options and Tuesday only added one new beer – Jupiler. Another Belgian mainstay.
Jupiler – a Belgian introduced in 1966
Wednesday saw us back in the hotel “en masse” and I added one more Trappe to the total before being part of the winning team in the “team building” event.
Trappe trappist
Some of the other winning team members
By Thursday evening everything was done, and a few of us grabbed a taxi down town and ate at the Cafe Central. We finished off at the Klep again and then headed for the train station to grab a taxi back to the hotel. The Klep had some interesting urinals of the type first tried at Schiphol. The psychology goes that if men are given something to aim at, they’re less likely to pee on the floor, and so help keep things a little less smelly and icky.
Franzishaner Weissbier – these monks know how to make beer
Spooky railings on the Domani church. I’m guessing it’s something to do with Carnival
De Koninck
Get the fly! Cleaning the floors in public washrooms is easier when men are encouraged to aim better.
Quieter Elephant 